


Bonked

by NorthwesternInsanity



Category: Deep Purple, Music RPF
Genre: Amnesia, Fooling, M/M, Sexual Tension, fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 14:26:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13928964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthwesternInsanity/pseuds/NorthwesternInsanity
Summary: It was just a typical heated argument between Ritchie and Ian. That was, until Ian got pushed over and came up too fast under the table. Then things got interesting -very quickly -and heated in an entirely different way too.





	Bonked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Malivrag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malivrag/gifts).



> Written for Rockfic Ficmas 2017 as a gift for Malivrag, who wished for Ian Gillan pretending to have temporary amnesia after bumping his head while arguing with Ritchie, and Ritchie playing to it by suggesting they are secret lovers.

Jon Lord was the first to go running out of the room, eyes mournful, gulping audibly even over the sound of his shoes clopping on the wooden floor. When his attempts to talk down the disagreement between Ritchie and Ian over setlist and tour plans failed and things began to get heated in a way that said far worse was coming, he'd decided he couldn't bear to watch them potentially come to blows or a swearing match.

_Uh-oh! This isn't good..._

It took a second for Paicey to get himself up from where he was situated at the table, mulling over paperwork for their latest studio session, and logistics from their manager for setting up the next tour. He'd had his chair tucked in so tightly that its legs were caught up in the legs of an adjacent chair, which meant an awkward struggle of frantic shifting about before getting it untangled so he could scoot it back enough to jump up. By which point he was blushing every shade of red and his eyes were practically bugging out of their sockets. But once he was up, it took him no time at all to get moving. He was following hot on Jon's heels before Jon could quite make it over the threshold of the doorway.

_We've got other things we need to get done; I've got other things I can be doing... Better things to be doing than having any part of that_.

With a shrug, Roger got up and slipped out after the two. Though most of Ian and Ritchie's fights were physically harmless (every now and then there were ones where fists were thrown, but nobody had ever been seriously hurt), they could get pretty scary considering Ritchie could be scary enough when he wasn't wound up. And even though it wasn't new and Roger could have stood to stay there, he figured that if Paicey and Jon were leaving that it might be best if he just went along with them.

"Give it up, Blackers," warned Ian. "Admit it, you're the only one who's got a problem. And if you'd stop being stubborn and actually consider it, you'd realize how often you make a problem of nothing."

"Well, maybe if you actually thought instead of putting your mind in the place of chasing after women, wanking in hotel rooms and running about naked, and heaven forbid someone other than us should have caught you in the act with Roger-"

Ian started to lift one of his impossibly long arms from his side, hand still curled in. It looked as though he was getting ready to strike Ritchie.

"-I wouldn't if I were you!" Ritchie's voice was the epitome of evil breaking through as he spoke through clinched teeth.

Instead, Ian did the exact opposite just to see what Ritchie would do, knowing it might just be the thing to knock Ritchie down from his high pedestal of wit.

Ian reached his arm out, snagged him in it, and pulled him in before he had a chance to resist. As soon as he had Ritchie helplessly restrained, Ian smacked a big, wet, sloppy kiss on his lips, and held it there for a good five seconds before letting up.

Ritchie's face flushed a bright red and his eyes went wide with horror. He stood frozen in place for five seconds, breathing in gasps and struggling to get his vocal cords and mouth to sync up and produce a sound, at which Ian pointed and laughed at like a maniacal fool. To see Ritchie Blackmore momentarily knocked down from the high pedestal of sharp wit he prided himself on and lost for words was priceless.

"You sick bastard!"

"I got you good with that one, didn't I?" Ian snickered, releasing his grip on Ritchie's body. 

That was a mistake. With his arms freed, Ritchie took his impressive, fury-driven snap of strength, and with his palms on Ian's chest, pushed off hard and propelled Ian backward across the room. The underside of Ian's shoe caught the floor as he stumbled backward, sending him crashing down to the floor beside the table.

Ian put on a dramatic act of rolling around and gripping himself, one hand clutched his shoulder, the other on his hip. He scrunched up his eyes and howled in mock-agony, but the laughter in his voice and the stupid grin on his face gave him away.

"Oh, Blackers! You-"

"Get. Up," Ritchie ordered darkly. "Keep on and I'll give you something real to shout about!"

"Ohhh...!" By now, Ian had rolled himself under the table.

"I'll bloody knock the sense back into you if you've decided to act a fool."

"A bit violent, are we?" asked Ian with that light, joking tone that made Ritchie want to smack him at times. Especially when he was trying to be serious and Ian couldn't restrain himself from joking around for just one bleeding minute.

"Don't even try to play that game with me." Ritchie curled a fist by his side. "If you think that to be violent, you'd really best not, or I'll show you what is."

"Oh, really? What do you suppose you'd have done if you'd just knocked me out just now?"

"I'd have been tempted to leave you there for a while before seeing if you didn't need help." Ritchie raised his extended index finger to his chin and narrowed his eyes with snide thought, then smirked. "That is, if I even did bother to check on you after that move-"

Ian dramatically clutched his chest and gasped as he rolled over and assumed a crawling position on his knees and his unoccupied hand, leaning down weakly as if Ritchie's words had him shocked and near collapsing.

"Why, Blackers -you would leave me under here without even giving a quick look? How evil of you; I cannot fathom -what if I'd hit my head on the floor and was bleeding internally?"

Ritchie stood looking rather unimpressed.

"I don't need your theatrics, Ian."

Ian began to slowly crawl backwards to get out from under the table. "Better that than being an evil bastard-"

Speaking while crawling out, Ian was distracted and came up off of his hands a little too soon. A resounding _bonk!_ came from the wooden surface as his head met the underside.

"Ahhh, bloody... fuck it!" he moaned, dropping down to the floor. First he went back onto his hands and knees, then he went over on his side to lay curled up under the table, holding his head and whimpering softly.

Ritchie rolled his eyes. He'd seen it and heard it. Ian hadn't hit one of the thicker, more solid cross beams that would have really dug in. With the noise under the thinner wood surface, while it would have hurt and startled Ian more than anything else, he hadn't really clocked himself to a point that would warrant the reaction Ritchie saw. Ian _did_ sometimes exaggerate his reaction to clutzy moves like hitting his head or stubbing his toe -more often for the sake of trying to amuse others, so it was likely he was exaggerating on purpose. 

However, it seemed counterintuitive that he would be trying to amuse Ritchie of all of them, especially when they were arguing. Unless, Ritchie wondered, if he was trying to get a reaction out of him, or see if it was possible to guilt trip him if he acted pitiful enough.

Of course, Ritchie had the answer to that one before Ian could have even thought of how to go on further.

_"Nice try_ ; I'm not _stupid_." Ritchie's tone couldn't have been any more flat and caustic.

Ian looked up at Ritchie with a blank, wide-eyed stare, before lowering one eyebrow and scrunching up his nose with confusion. Indeed, it hadn't hurt so much after a second, but he'd seen stars on impact, and that had given him an idea for a less predictable curveball to throw. One that might take Ritchie for a ride.

"Who is this?" he asked. He looked around the room, gaping stupidly. "Where the bloody hell am I and how'd I get here?"

"Knock it off, Gillan," Ritchie scolded. "That's not funny, and I'm not going to pity you just because you jokingly pretend to be incapacitated."

"How do you know my surname?" Ian demanded, shrinking back defensively. He widened his eyes, looking around the room as if in a blind panic and trying to find an exit to run through.

Ritchie huffed out a sigh. "Come here," he ordered firmly, pointing to the ground in front of him. "And no, I'm not coming to you, so you'd best do it yourself."

Ian climbed up from the ground sluggishly, making an awkward movement when he turned himself upright as though he'd felt some vertigo, but came up to his feet and walked across the room without staggering. Either he actually had mildly concussed himself, or he was doing a better than normal job of acting by not overdoing it.

Knowing exactly what he was doing, when Ian got up to Ritchie, he stood still for a second, then allowing himself to sway slightly, reached out one hand and held Ritchie's shoulder for stability. Looking openly and confused into Ritchie's eyes, he inwardly jolted with excitement as he saw the tiniest fluctuation in them. He'd gotten Ritchie second-guessing his initial response. With just a bit more careful playing, he realized it was actually possible to get Ritchie to take the bait.

"Let me see your eyes a minute," Ritchie tried, squinting, his voice sounding somewhere on the line between suspicion and fascination.

Holding himself together, Ian continued looking right into Ritchie's eyes. He was so close he could have crawled right into the irises, the slow widening of which gave away the only sign that Ritchie was actually contemplating it.

Ritchie slowly held up his index finger.

"Follow this with your eyes," he said. This time his tone was blank and unreadable.

Ian started to turn his head.

"With your _eyes_ , not with your head, you idiot!" Ritchie grumbled, and Ian immediately corrected, holding his head still and trying to watch Ritchie's finger with his eyes.

As Ritchie swept his finger back and forth, crossing in front of Ian's face in both directions twice at a moderately slow pace, Ian's eyes tracked with it. There were a couple of moments which it looked as though his eyes lagged a little, faltering, before catching up. As he sped up, the over and under-compensation seemed to become less subtle.

"Oh, bloody brilliant," Ritchie muttered.

Ian was jumping with excitement on the inside. Ritchie had fallen for it -he really thought he had amnesia!

"And you say you don't know who I am, or have any recollection of the two of us having any relation?"

Ian blinked.

"N-no," he stuttered, looking over Ritchie, before reconnecting with his eyes in such an open, bewildered look that Ritchie had to look away, suddenly uncomfortable as if Ian were staring into him, searching for something deep in his mind for the endless things that he allowed no one into but himself.

To his dismay, Ritchie felt this was one of the rare moments at which he was truly stumped at what to do. It really did look that Ian had concussed himself and was experiencing significant retrograde amnesia. For sure, asking Ian to follow his finger would have gotten him snickering like the big fool he was. And it wasn't exaggerated as usual. If he'd acted like he didn't recognize his own name, or if he'd staggered across the room, Ritchie wouldn't have believed it and known for sure he was playing. A head slam under the table wouldn't have been that severe -but this was just so subtle and authentic that Ritchie couldn't keep his suspicions up. 

No way was he going to fawn over Ian or help him though -he'd deserved to hit his head with how foolish he was being. However, Ritchie couldn't quite bring himself to just leave Ian alone when there was a chance it was serious and he at least needed to be watched to make sure the signs didn't get worse. The only thing was it would be far too boring to just sit there while Ian continued to goof off in his off-minded state...

...Unless, that was, he took advantage of it. The only risk he found of concern to him going against that was dealing with a horrified and inconsolable Jon Lord should Ian end up needing to go for medical attention later.

Well, Ritchie decided, Ian wouldn't have been under the table to get concussed if he hadn't been acting ridiculous earlier, so it was his own fault, and whatever ridicule could be placed on him, he had it coming. And he'd attempted to embarrass him too. So he saw no reason to even think his next decision was shameful.

Ritchie decided to play along. He was curious for a lot of things -as to what Ian would do if he began telling him outlandish things based on his own outlandish actions. If Ian was going to play games with him, Ian was going to have to play by his rules.

Slowly looking up with a wistful, unbelieving look -not hard to act and mess up considering how stumped he was, he spoke to convey a different thought.

"Ian?"

Ian continued to look at him, bewildered.

"You dare say you don't know who I am when we practically spend our lives together, Ian?" Ritchie asked, carefully working just the right balance of bemused questioning and more forceful demanding.

Ian shook his head. He exhaled shakily, lip twitching as though he were trying to form words and struggling. 

"Wh-who _are_ you?" On the inside, he knew exactly who Ritchie was, and it was all he could do to keep himself together and not laugh at the look on Ritchie's face, and disguise his efforts to not laugh as something else.

Oh, yes, he'd gotten Ritchie this time. Now he just needed to keep playing the act to see what Ritchie did.

"I would _think_ that you would know your fellow bandmate whom you lead a well known rock band with, and more importantly, are engaged in a love affair with unbeknownst to the others."

Ian's eyes widened involuntarily.

_Oh, really? What are you onto, Blackers?_ Before he could get to laughing over that outlandish idea coming from Ritchie -though he wouldn't mind if it were real just for the thrill -Ian continued.

"I don't; honestly," he insisted. "I wish I could, if what you're saying is true -honestly. Apologies? Maybe you could tell me something and see if it brings things back?"

"Does the name 'Ritchie' ring a bell?"

"Ritchie?" asked Ian, slowly as if trying to see if it felt familiar. "Ritchie." He looked lost, then his eyes lit up. "Is that short for anything?"

"It is," Ritchie ceded, "for 'Richard,' though you don't often call me that."

Ian looked down, putting the tip of his finger against his chin in thought. Finally, he looked back up with a defeated look. "Is there anything else I call you?"

"Well," said Ritchie, with a sigh as if annoyed, "you do call me 'Blackers' right much. At first I wasn't to fond of it, but it's stuck overtime, so now I'm used to it."

Ian almost snorted then. Ritchie had never made a fuss over being called "Blackers" -that was him playing in his dark, manipulative ways.

"Why 'Blackers?' Where does that one come from?" asked Ian.

"My surname, Blackmore."

"Ritchie Blackmore... Blackers..." Ian sprung a silly, almost intoxicated looking grin. "I do like the sound of that," he said, almost too slowly. "Blackmore and Gillan -and we're in a band? Who else is in it?"

"You seriously don't remember any of your bandmates either," Ritchie asked without a readable tone.

Ian's eyes lit up as he got an idea.

"I recall knowing and hanging around some bloke who plays bass," he offered. "Would ours happen to answer to Roger Glover?"

Ian had a feeling that suggesting Roger would grant him the greatest reaction out of Ritchie, and from what he saw next, he was quite sure it had. Ritchie tended to not ever be as annoyed by Paicey and Jon, as they almost always stuck to themselves and rarely dared to challenge him, so Roger was a bit more of a push.

_Of course you would mention Roger,_ Ritchie thought. _Of course, because it's always you two who've got to be foolish whenever it suits you..._

Ritchie's expression changed from sheer anger, to shock, then something almost crestfallen, but it looked too odd and out of place on him to be called such a thing.

"I can't believe it," he said softly. "Ian, I can't believe it, and yet," -his tone became sharp and biting- "I should well believe it, knowing the wanker you are-"

Ian couldn't help but think that for someone who always got in him for his "theatrics," Ritchie's were quite dramatic too that he'd allowed himself to show them.

"Why, did I say something wrong, or-?"

"You would remember our bass player over your lover and guitarist. I can't believe it. I'd heard it suggested you were a player recently, and I suppose you were just playing me too like the big fool you are." Ritchie sniffed indignantly and turned his nose up, slowly sauntering toward the door like a cat that had just had its tail caught, and after jumping and hissing in reaction, was aiming to walk away and play it as if nothing had happened.

"Blackers, wait!" insisted Ian, amused and wanting to see how else Ritchie might act.

"Tell me why I ought to," Ritchie demanded. _Was he pouting?_ Ian couldn't tell what the slight variance on Ritchie's ordinary spoilsport expression was supposed to be, but along with the rest of his act, it was priceless.

"I remember I have sung with a group, I just can't remember anyone for sure other than Roger -and maybe if you could tell me more, it'll come back?" He looked Ritchie over. "I can't quite put it together, but I'm feeling something. Please tell me more, will you?"

Ritchie sighed huffily again. "You had best be serious and not wasting my time," he hissed. "You sing lead, and with me on guitar, we're both sort of frontmen in our own ways. It's debatable as to which one of us spends more time fully dominating the stage; however, I would think it's not the slightest question to any fan that isn't caught up in the stupidity of the world which one of us spends more time acting like a fool for the fun of it."

Ian grinned. On the inside he was rolling his eyes at what he'd heard so many times before, but dying with laughter too at just how forceful Ritchie was saying it -as though he was getting some insane satisfaction out of being able to tell it to Ian like he'd never heard it before.

"Who, me?" he asked innocently, playing along.

"Do I look like the type who often plays the fool?" Ritchie inquired, voice dripping with sarcasm.

_You're playing it right now, Blackers,_ Ian thought to himself with glee.

"Of course, it's you," he spat.

"And so we lead the stage together, and you are the serious one while I'm more comedic-"

"-to say it too kindly-" Ritchie interjected.

"-have you ever blown up an amp onstage before?" Ian suddenly asked.

Ritchie stood looking taken aback.

"Once, and not the way I intended too, but yes, I have. Do you remember something?"

"Well," said Ian, shaking his head as if trying to orient himself, in reality, trying to resist and hide an evil grin as he now knew exactly how he wanted to play. "Blackers, I can't say I can remember but so much about you, or us..."

He trailed off walked up to Ritchie to stand two steps away from him and looked over him curiously.

"...There's something there that's familiar, and maybe you've heard I'm a player because I look for interesting features in people and don't often find it -I must say, you're quite the character, Blackers..." Ian trailed off, squinting with fascination and making direct eye contact with it that nearly made Ritchie squirm.

"...You've got some of the most interesting eyes; it's as though I could crawl into them," he remarked.

Ritchie's stance faltered, wanting to back up a step when he was forcing himself to stay in place. He'd never heard that before, and now it almost seemed that Ian was serious, and what did that mean...? 

"...It's as though I could crawl into them and try to get in whatever kind of heart you seem to have hidden away so tightly now that I can't remember, but Blackers-"

Ian crept forward a pace, getting even closer to Ritchie.

"-I want to love you."

Ritchie felt his cheeks flush hot, not having expected an answer that extreme, or the internal question if Ian actually did prior to this. To Ian's view, the color spread from the corners of his nose out to the sides, almost as before when he'd kissed him -only there was no horrified response yet.

Had Ritchie only repelled him because he knew he would be aware of his reaction then? Ian had to find out. He wasn't so much amused and trying to find a way to embarrass Ritchie now as he was purely curious.

He crept another step forward, looking right into Ritchie's thunderstruck eyes, putting his hands on Ritchie's shoulders, leaning his ridiculously tall body down so that he could press his forehead against Ritchie's.

"Tell me now, Ritchie," he murmured, "do you want me?"

Ritchie's breathing caught in his throat.

"I-I..." he stuttered, as though conflicted.

Ian stroked one of his hands down Ritchie's arm from his shoulder, then curled it behind his back to guide him, and felt Ritchie shiver as he did.

"We can figure this memory deal out in time, if we're as you say we are. I think you've got bigger worries at the moment, Blackers." Ian stepped backward, making it so he pulled Ritchie to step forward along with him, until finally, he was backed against the wall with Ritchie in front of him. "Don't be afraid now."

Ritchie swayed slightly as if dizzy, then leaned forward into Ian for stability, the two still nose to nose. Now no longer playing, it was far easier for Ian. Rather than having to force it, and far less undignified than before, he pushed his lips to Ritchie's. Not only did Ritchie still not repel him, but with a soft whimper, he pushed in too. Reaching his arm up aggressively and grabbing at Ian's shoulder, he curled his fingertips in against it, then as Ian let up and stroked his back again, he flexed his fingers and curled his opposing hand -much like a cat kneading it's claws.

Ian couldn't help but think that was somehow fitting -Ritchie being aloof and temperamental as a half-feral, black alley cat. He traced patterns with his fingertips on Ritchie's torso, getting lower and closer to the waistband of Ritchie's pants, but going slow and teasingly. Ritchie was tensing up, and with a soft whimper, he reached up and grabbed Ian's hair to keep silenced.

With his other hand, Ian reached up and began to play with Ritchie's hair in retaliation, and pushed in for another kiss.

Ritchie flexed his hand against Ian's side and curled in tighter with the one in his hair, nearly pulling it.

A knock came at the door, followed by the voice of a very concerned Jon Lord.

"Ian? Ritchie? Are you alright? It's gotten quiet all of a sudden, and do tell me you've stopped arguing because you've resolved it and not that you're hurt," he pleaded.

Ian let up from Ritchie's lips and chose that moment to moan in pleasure, though without the sight, sounded more in pain.

The doorknob slowly turned, and Ritchie flinched, jumping back two feet from Ian.

Jon reluctantly pushed open the door to see Ian leaning against the wall, Ritchie standing awkwardly a few steps from him, both with flushed faces and messy hair. They were breathing heavily and looking like they'd definitely been roughing each other up, though not in the way Jon was fearing.

"You haven't hurt one another, have you? Please tell me that both of you are alright."

Ian looked up with his impish, 'who, me?' grin again.

"Oh, no need to fear, Jon. Blackers may have pushed me under the table, but we're finished arguing and quite alright now to finish deciding about the set list," he assured.

Ritchie's already enlarged eyes went big as saucers. Biting the inside of his cheeks to hold the laughter in, Ian turned so that Jon couldn't see him and sneaked a wink at Ritchie, grinning like a dog that had just successfully found a hidden bone after digging up the whole backyard. Ordinarily, Ian would have been disappointed at being cock blocked, but the look on Ritchie's face and ultimately making his original goal dissipated most of his own dismay.

_"No,"_ Ritchie shouted with venom, lunging forward at Ian, one hand extended to grab at him, "as a matter of fact, we're _not_ , the sodden-!"

"Oh, dear!" Jon's hand went up to shield his eyes like blinkers on a horse as he let out a lamenting gasp, and he turned and exited just as painfully as he entered. As soon as the door closed, Ian roared with laughter, pointing at Ritchie with one hand and already shamelessly reaching into his trousers with the other to alleviate the rising pressure he now had.

"I _played_ you," he wheezed out. "I got you good and had you fooled. I played you like you play one of your guitars!"

He found himself snatched by his shirt right up to Ritchie, vicious glare. But Ritchie wouldn't dare hit him now. Not after he'd just been taken for a ride after physical retaliation. Just to be sure, Ian decided to flash his last bit of wIt.

"You aren't really going to hit me again and find out what else could result, are you? We could still continue."

Instead, he gave Ian a good, firm jab with the heels of his hands in the chest before releasing him and turning on his heels to go off and brood over what had just occurred.

"You bloody wanker," Ritchie hissed indignantly. "Next time you come up underneath a table, I'll make _sure_ that you knock yourself senseless!"


End file.
